Cb4y Itl 321p YALE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Bought with the income of the WILLIAM C. EGLESTON FUND THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALLAS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON . BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OP CANADA, Ltd. TORONTO THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT BY CONSTANTINE M. PANUNZIO Author of "The Deportation Cases' of 1919-1920" THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1921 All rights reserve's , PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OP AMERICA CoPYniGHT, 1921, Bt the MACMILLAN COMPANY. Set up and printed. Published September, 1921. L -^^'--M Press of J. J. Little & Ives Oompany N«w York, U. S. A. TO ALL WHO BY COtTNSEL AUD GinDA:NCE, BY Elf COUEAGEMENT OE HINDEANCE, HAVE MADE MY PIlfAI, CHOICE POSSIBI.E, MY AMEEICAir LIFE AN Era:E-trifFOIJ)D«rG REALITY, THIS BOOK IS GEATEFtTLLT DEDICATED ACKNOWLEDGMENTS English poetry has materially helped the author of this book to understand the genius of the Anglo- Saxon mind and character and of the soul of America. It is therefore fitting that he should, and he does hereby, make acknowledgment of his indebted ness to the poets quoted in this book and to the publishers for having accorded him the right to use copyrighted material. In particular to The Mac- millan Company for the citations from the poetical works of Arnold, Byron, Cowper, Vachel Lindsay, Tagore, Tennyson, and Wordsworth; to Messrs. Charles Scribner's Sons and to Doctor Henry Van Dyke for the quotations from "The Poems of Henry Van Dyke"; to William Herbert Carruth for the stanza from "Each in His Own Tongue"; to the Ladies' Home Journal and to C. Austin Miles for the music to Doctor Van Dyke's "America for Me," and to George H. Doran Co., and Christopher Morley for "The Madonna of the Curb"; to Harcourt, Brace & Co. and Thomas Daly for "Da Little Boy" ; to B. W. Huebsch and Percy MacKaye for the lines from "The Immigrants"; to the John Lane Com pany and W. J. Dawson for the selection from VIU ACKNOWLEDGMENTS "America"; to Little, Brown & Co. and Denis A. McCarthy for "The Land Where Hate Should Die"; to Messrs. Lothrop, Lee & Shephard and Richard Burton for the quotation from "Lyrics of Brotherhood" ; to Houghton Mifflin & Co., for the lines from Phcebe Cary; to the Nation, to Rainer Maria Rilke, and to Ludwig Lewisohn (translator) for "Concerning Great Cities"; to the Frederick A. Stokes Company and Alfred Noyes for the quotation from "The Avenue of the Allies"; to the G. Schirmer Music Stores, Los Angeles, for the citation from Donizetti's "ItaHa Beloved," and to Messrs. A. P. Watt & Sons and Rudyard Kipling for the two stanzas from "The Stranger." FOREWORD DuEiNG the winter of 1905-1906 I was attending a preparatory school in the State of Maine. One cold night a schoolmate, now professor in a Southern university, came into my room and, throwing himself upon my bed, somewhat abruptly asked me to tell him how I happened to come to the United States. I have no way of knowing what put the idea into his mind; it may have been, and perhaps it was, mere boyish curiosity. It was past midnight when he left the room; and then only in answer to the uncanny cry of the watchman: "All lights out." My friend returned to my room repeatedly after that, and, though at times annoying me, managed, little by little, to wring out of me the "round unvarnish'd tale." Since that night I have had to tell the story hun dreds of times to audiences varying from one person to hundreds of men and women, and from Bath, Maine, to Salt Lake City, Utah. Naturally the tale has grown somewhat longer in the meantime and has acquired many more twists. Everywhere it has evoked interest and, what is far more important. X FOREWOBD has awakened sympathy toward the "foreigner." After a time, however, it became both embarrassing and tedious for me to repeat the story, and I sought a way of avoiding my doing so. America's entrance into the War at last brought me relief for thereby I was able to break all engagements. r With the close of the War, however, and with the unprecedented way in which the American public has turned its attention to the all-important question of the assimilation of the immigrant, it became increas ingly clear to me that I owed it to my adopted coun- _ try to give the story to the public. Scores of per sons had told me that I owed this as a matter of duty; but I had turned a deaf ear primarily be cause it is so personal and it goes so deep into the very recesses of my being. A teacher-friend at last made me realize that if the story were to do any good it need to go out at this time; so I have given it to the public. The story is a simple one; it is that of a sailor lad who nineteen years ago to-day left liis native country and through a series of strange incidents came to the United States and through another series of strange circumstances came definitely and con sciously to adopt America as his country. What happened during this period; how he found his way into the immigrant community, how he secured his first "job," how he was ensnared into peonage, how he was robbed and then dragged into a prison, how FOREWORD XI he was led into unlawful acts, how he freed himself from the grip of unscrupulous peoples, how he struggled to secure an education, to get naturalized and to fit into American life ; these and many other experiences, typical of thousands of immigrants in this country, are told frankly and boldly. If the narrative has any particular value it grows out of the fact that it recounts the struggles of an avera^eimmigrant. It is not the life story of a Jacob Riis, an Andrew Carnegie or an Edward Bok that is told here, but that of an immigrant lad who has been neither too successful nor too imsuccessful. , The stories of great and successful immigrants have led some Americans to say: "See what great people immigrants are! We need more of them"; while others, equally as superficially, have said: "If these immigrants have been able to make such a mark for themselves in our world, all immigrants could do the same if they wanted to." Both of these state ments are beautiful, but what they imply is not true to fact. This story suggests — and I hope in a con structive manner — what helps or hinders the many in or from becoming useful American citizens. Again, this tale depicts the inner, the sotd struggles of the immigrant more than his outward success or failure. It tells of the agonies and the Calvaries, of the bitter sorrows and the high joys of an immigrant sotd; it traces the liberation of a mind from the conceptions it brought from the Old Xll FOREWORD World and pictures its development into the Ameri can consciousness. Not outward poverty, degrada tion, misery; but inner conflict, soul-struggles are here primarily depicted. Moreover, this is the story of an Italian hoy. Several immigrant autobiographies have been writ ten in the last twenty-five years, but I know of only two that are by men of Italian birth. We Italians by birth are so proud of our native land that, even though we become fully Americans at heart we may hesitate to publish the fact broadcast. I too have had to face this conflict, but my gratitude to Amer ica has led me frankly to indicate the benefits I have derived from residence in the United States. Then also, this is the autobiography of a South- Italian. Regarding the South-Italian many un pleasant things are being hinted at, if not openly expressed, in these days. This story shows that even a southern Italian can make something of himself under the inspiring influence of America, when he has the proper opportunity and is thrown in the right environment. These are the reasons why I have written this book. It has been far from easy for me to do so. It goes so deeply into the very recesses of my con sciousness, it recounts so many unpleasant and humiliating experiences, that, frankly, I should have preferred not to have written it at aU, or to have permitted it to appear in the cold blackness of FOREWORD Xm print. But I have done both as an offering to my adopted country. I have told the story frankly, fully; sometimes I think too frankly, too fully. If that be considered a fault, let it be laid against my desire to be of greatest possible service to my coun try, America, regardless of the way it may affect me personally. Some of the chapters I have left pretty much in the form in which my original notes were, notes made at the time of the events narrated; I have done this in order that I might give a truer pic ture of the struggle in point and not mar the original impression by throwing upon it the light of later knowledge or development. I am aware that the language is not always in the form in which it should be. In this as in other respects I could be my own most scathing critic. I ask the indulgence of the reader, however. For after all my only desire is that this little book may help Americans to under- , stand, a little more fully perhaps, what fire the im- j migrant passes through as he lifts his face toward \ the real America. I owe a debt of gratitude to a number of persons who from time to time have counselled me in regard to this book. I here express my thanks to them all ; particularly to Professor Robert E. Park of the University of Chicago and to Miss Mabel A. Brown of Remsen, N. Y., who examined this book in its pre liminary form and made valuable suggestions. I XIV FOREWORD wish to mention especially Bishop and Mrs. Fred B. Fisher, of Calcutta, India, who not only have been of greatest help in connection with this work, but who also through the undying loyalty of years have been of greatest inspiration to me ; also Mr. Theodore A. Hildreth of White Plains, New York and Miss Lenore M. Ryan of Berkeley, California, who in a like man ner have been a profound spiritual influence. C. M. Panunzio. White Plains, N. Y. May 3, 1921. CONTENTS CHAPTER PAGE I. A Native of Ancient Apulia 3 II. The Call of the Sea 33 III. Ameeica « S3 IV. In the American Storm 69 V. I Go to Jail 103 VI. I AM Caught Agsin 121 VII. A Mystekioits Event 133 VIII. FiEST Glimpses of the Real Ameeica . . . 139 IX. "My Boy, You Ought to Go to School" . . 149 X. My American Education and Its Meaning . 159 XI. I SuFFEE Serious Losses 183 XII. I Become Naturalized 193 XIII. Stumbling Blocks to Assimilation .... 303 XIV. My American "Big Beothee" 317 XV. In an Immigeant Community 227 XVI. Still Moee Obstacles to Assimilation . . . 247 XVII. I Go to Jail Once Moee 259 XVIII. My Ameeican Philosophy of Life .... 275 XIX. Home! 299 XX. The Final Choice . . . 315 A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA ^ Like tides on a crescent sea beach. When the moon is new and thin. Into our hearts high yearnings. Come welling and surging in — Come from the mystic ocean Whose rim no foot has trod — Some of us call it Longing, And others call it God. William. Herbert Carruth. THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT CHAPTER I A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA IN that division of southern Italy known to the ancients as "Apulia," about twenty miles north of Brindisi, the Brindisium of Roman days, a quaint old city slumbers peacefully beside the placid waters of the blue Adriatic. It bears the name of "Molfetta." To what age this little city goes back no one can teU. It is evident, however, that it is very old. In the heart of it the remains of what was once a walled citadel are still to be seen. The massive wall, some thirty feet high and three feet thick, with its old gates and doors, still stands. The queer, narrow, aUey-like streets, with overhanging arches here and there ; the low, flat-roofed dwellings, with their outside walls standing unceremoniously right on the streets ; the little public squares, which are not squares at all, — aU speak of the age of the town. The Saracens at one time occupied this vil lage, and have left their traces, both in the architec tural form of the town and in the blood of the people. [3] 4 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT Three high Byzantine towers were still standing at the time this story begins ; two of them still rise, like silent sentinels of past ages, above what is the oldest Christian church in the town. The third once Hfted its head as a clock tower above the Great Gate. The citadel, however, goes back farther than the Sara cens, to the time when Roma was mistress of the (vorld. An interesting legend is recounted to this day by the inhabitants of Molfetta, which throws some light on the age of the ancient village. When Han nibal was ravaging this part of Italia Antica, so the story goes, the populace became greatly alarmed and fearing an attack, were driven into a state of panic. The Roman centurion in command of Molfetta, to calm their fears, called the people together one day in the public square to address them. There was in the little town a very large man, a veritable giant ; with him the centurion had arranged to carry out a scheme to restore their courage. As the people assembled, the giant came with them. The centurion made his speech, in the course of which he said : "Citizens of Molfetta, have no fear of the enemy ; we are strong enough to defeat him; in fact there is one man in this very assembly who alone can put the enemy to flight." Just then he beckoned to the giant, who came forward. "This is the man," said the centurion, pointing to him. A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 5 The people, the legend continues, looked at each other in astonishment, wondering how this one man could defeat the army of the mighty Carthaginian. Obeying the orders of the officer, the giant, unarmed, strode out from amid the crowd and made his way to the outskirts of the village. The people looked on in amazement. Going' out a mile or two from the village, the giant lay by the roadside awaiting the approach of the enemy. When he saw them coming, so the story narrates, he roUed himself in the dust of the roadway and began to utter the most unearthly howls and screams. When the commander of the invading army, marching at the head of the column, came up to him, he stopped his horse and asked what was the trouble. The giant promptly answered, with cries and still more cries, that because he was the smallest man in the town, the inhabitants had driven him out in order that he might not be in their way when the fighting should take place. Need less to say the mighty Carthaginian army was at once ordered to retreat and hastily made its way from the outskirts of Molfetta. Around the ancient citadel about which this and many other interesting legends are woven, lies the modern Molfetta, known as "Molfetta nuova," in contrast to "Molfetta vecchia." This is compara tively a modern town, as modem towns go in south- em Italy. The streets are wider, the houses are more pretentious, built in the Roman style with their 6 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT "antria" — open courts — ^in the center. The prin cipal street of the town, known as the "Corso," rans in a straight line north and south, parallel to the coast and just outside of the ancient wall. Along this street are all the principal shops, stores, offices, cafes and clubs; farther along its course are the few monuments and public buildings which adorn the town; monuments to Victor Emanuel, Mazzini, Garibaldi, Cavour; the Cathedral, the Municipal Theater, the public baths and the Villa Garibaldi, or public garden. To the east of the Corso and north of the old wall, lies the "porto" or harbor, almost asleep in its inactivity, with perhaps a round hundred masts of coasting schooners and fishing skiffs raising their heads above the tranquil waters. In the outskirts of the city are the only industrial establishments, supported by^the population of some 40,000 souls ; a soap shop, two macaroni factor ies, and an electric plant. Farther out is to be found the cemetery, in some ways the most beautiful place in town, with its scores of little private chapels, real gems of architecture, and the never-dying pale glow made by myriads of little oil lamps, keeping their eternal vigil over the souls of the dead. The country surrounding Molfetta is one of varied beauty. The main highways, some of which can be traced back to ancient times, are well kept. Endless rows of tall, slender trees make the scene picturesque and beautiful. The whole countryside A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 7 is a paradise of orchards of orange and lemon trees, of fig, almond, olive, peach, pistaccio, walnut, and others, while grape vines are present everywhere. The life of the people is very simple. The chmate, which nine months of the year is very mild, gives them a leisurely attitude toward life. They live in comparative poverty, gaining their entire livelihood from the products of the soil. They are overbur dened with taxes, which reach down to the least article they wear or consume. But even in their poverty they are happy, for their poverty is not placed in bold contrast with enormous riches on every side, as is the case in some countries. The town is seldom visited by tourists and the people live in a little world all to themselves, scarcely ever troubling their minds with the events of the outside world or even of other parts of Italy. Their main diversions consist in the various social and religious festivals of the calendar year. First comes the Carnival, when the whole population in dulges in a season of play and carousing, moral and immoral. This is followed by Passion Week, with its somber night processions, culminating in the gladsome celebration of Easter. On Corpus Christi day the whole city is one panorama of flowers and bright colors. Rich and poor aKke hang out of their windows their best quilts and silk spreads, covering the walls of the streets with the bright hues. From far and near the best flowers of the season 8 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT are brought in and thrown along the streets on which the procession passes. San Corrado, the patron saint of the city, has his day on the 8th of August. The streets are decorated and illumined profusely, and a large quantity of fireworks are lighted at night. On September 20th comes the national holiday commemorating the independence of Italy. Orations, illuminations and fireworks are the order of the day. Finally comes Christmas, the one festival season of all the year when the people are truly in a spirit of worship. Aside from these feasts and celebrations, the townspeople have little of a social character. The town maintains a municipal theater which is open for two or three months in the winter. In the sum mer the band gives concerts in the Villa Garibaldi. There are few, if any, community dances or func tions, and seldom do the people go out on picnics or social functions of a similar character. It was in this city and in this environment that I first saw the light of day. The family of my father traces its history back to the twelfth century and to a French monk. It is said that this monk grew weary of the warm comforts and the leisure of monastic life, and abandoned the monastery for the cold realities of Hfe. He married and established a family of his own in northern Italy. Later his descendants went down into the sunnier clime of southeastern Italy, where they have lived for cen- A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 9 turies. Here they built for themselves an enviable record, rising to the ranks of petty nobility and giving to Italy many professional men. I was born and lived in old Molfetta the greater part of my youth. I do not know the particular house in which I was born, but one thing is certain : there was great rejoicing in the home of my parents on the day of my birth. This was not due to the fact that a child was born, but rather that a boy had come into the world. In the background of this extraordinary rejoicing was this story. From what grandmother told me over and over again even when I was a mere babe, it seems that my paternal grandfather had been a man of unusual character and personality. Don Costantino, as he was known, had been a physi cian by profession, and as was often the case in that day, he had also practiced law. It is said that in both capacities he had rendered great service, es pecially to the poor. What seems to have given him a special place in the hearts of the people of his native Molfetta and raised him to the realm of a household god, however, was his ardent patriotism. During the middle of the nineteenth century, Italy, and especially southern Italy, was in the iron grip of the Bourbons, the worst tyrants of the time. In the early revolutions of 184<8-184!9, when the foun dations of a United Italy were being laid, grand father seems to have been the moving spirit of a 10 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGR4,N.T small group of patriots, who had banded themselves together in a secret organization, determined to arouse and lead the people of Molfetta and the sur rounding villages to do their part in the cause of liberty. Spies, everywhere the worst enemies of progress, were as thick as vermin. They soon dis covered this small band of patriots, and in a raid conducted under the dark cloak of night, they ar rested Don Costantino and fourteen others and without trial hastened them to the notorious dungeon of Montefusco, near Naples, where many patriots had found death. Grandfather, being the leader, was singled out and forced to drink a cup of poison. When he realized that the end had come he is said to have uttered these as his last words: "My poor children and my country!" His co-conspirators who had been seized with him were brought in to view his stiffened body and were told that they too would suffer a like end, unless they would promise to give up their revolutionary tendencies and become "orderly and honorable citizens." Then they were released. Grandfather's widow was left without resources to bring up a family of six children. In 1870, when Italy was at last free and had become a united and independent kingdom, grandmother received a pen sion, which on her death passed to my father, and when he died it reverted to me. Poor as I have been, I have never collected a centime of it. Thus the A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 11 irony of history was repeated in grandfather's case : one day an "established" order wounds, outlaws or slays, on the morrow another equally "established" order extols to the sky, erects monuments, makes heroes and saints. The connection between this story and the special rejoicing over the event of my birth lay in this : — at last the family had a boy who would perpetuate the name of its ancestor-hero. Two boys and four girls had been bom previous to my coming, but although all the girls had Hved, the boys had both died and the family was beginning to fear that the name of their hero would not be perpetuated. It was, then, purely a matter of ancestor worship. Accordingly, I was named and on the fifth day of my earthly journey I was christened "Costantino." In this manner the task of carrying on grandfather's name and reputation was placed upon my slender shoul ders and my yet unborn consciousness. Grandmother was the controlling factor of my early life; she took charge of my bringing up even while I was being nursed. She immediately set herself the task of making a second grandfather out of me. Evidently she was not to be satisfied with my bearing his name only ; I was to be his exact du plicate! To that end she began to tell me the story of her martyred husband's Hfe and death. Even before I could possibly have understood what she was saying, she wove that story into my infant 12 A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA consciousness so strongly that the first time I be came conscious of my existence it seemed that I was not I, but grandfather re-born in me. My earliest memories are those of sitting in grandmother's lap in the gentle hour of twilight, and hearing each night the bedtime story of my hero grandfather. She would then put me to bed and, gently kissing me goodnight, would almost invariably say: "Tu devi divenire un grand'uomo, come il tuo nonno" — ^"You must become a great man, like your grandfather." As I grew older dear grandmother went still further; she worked out a plan for my life to the last detail. "First a priest, then a teacher, and at last a patriotic statesman," she would say. Then she proceeded to carry out the plan. She even went to the extent of choosing a baby girl, a distant relative, as the one who should some day become my wife. Thus while I was barely a midget, I was betrothed. In her plans, however, my grandmother did not take into consideration the great laws of heredity, as I presume many grandmothers do not. She of course was not to blame; in her day not much was known on this subject, and even in our times we are just beginning to unfathom the great mystery. But we shall presently see that some other being than my paternal grandfather presided at my conception and, at least in my youth, directed the course of my life. And perhaps it was due to the conflict be- A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 18 tween the powers of heredity on the one hand, and the plan of life as worked out by my grandmother and all my relatives, on the other, that on a not far- distant day I was to find myself in the country beyond the setting sun, there to become an American. But that is getting a bit ahead of the story. We must return to my family and to the general back ground of what follows. My father was the oldest of the six children left for grandmother to bring up. Although without means, in keeping with the custom of the time regarding the education of the oldest son, she managed to send my father to the University, — in itself an extraordinary feat for a woman in those days, and even to-day, in Italy. Father followed the usual classical course of the time, and upon his graduation, became instructor in jurisprudence, and later in life took up the prac tice of law in his native city, Molfetta. At one time in his life, I am not certain just when, he established and conducted a private boys' school. In this he seems to have done his best work, for to this day there are not a few men in Molfetta and in other parts of Italy, and occasionally I have run across one in America, who revere his memory as that of a beloved teacher. Father took an active interest in public hfe; occasionally he wrote articles on patriotic and civic subjects. He had a fair amount of ability as a pubUc speaker, which he devoted to the service of his country, especially against all 14 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT forms of cormpt poHtics, of which he was a mighty foe. In Molfetta, Don Coll (an abbreviation of Don Nicohno) as he was known, was respected and honored chiefly for his sturdiness, liis courage, his integrity and his sense of honor. In his home father was primarily law and sec ondarily love. Although I Hved with grandmother I came under the influence of both. In fact, on account of my being the eldest son and the one who was to perpetuate grandfather's good name, father took special pains with me. In the exercise of his function as law giver, father made use of two methods ; that of being a teacher and that of apply ing the rod. He was first and last the "pater "familias," whose word could seldom be questioned, and never disputed. He taught us many Latin and Italian proverbs, dealing primarily with outward conduct and good manners. Most of these were of a negative, or don't-yourdo-this-or-that type. He was anxious that we should bear ourselves honorably in Hfe, mainly emphasizing obedience and good be havior as well as respect toward authority and to the aged. I remember him more vividly as an applier of the rod, however, simply because of the impressions he made upon me in that way. That he sometimes resorted to severe forms of punishment I have no doubt, though I suppose, in keeping with the usual custom, I should laud the punishments which I re- A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 1.5 ceived in my youth. He would often tie me to a bed post and keep me there for hours. Once, for having stayed away from school a day, he locked , me in a room, with big nails driven in the door, to prevent mother from coming to my rescue. He kept me there on bread and water for a whole week. Of course I had more than just bread and water, for dear mother managed to sHp me something every day by means of a long pole from the balcony of the adjoining room. As far as he was concerned, however, it was bread and water I had that week and no more. My brothers as well as I came to fear him greatly and often we would take refuge in the home of some relative in order to escape his punish ments. And yet, strange as it may seem to one who did not know him as we did, father was at times as tender and gentle as a mother. Though he seldom played with us, he loved us with a genuine apd deep-seated affection. I have very dear memories of the times he used to take me for long walks in the country by day and on the mole in the cool of the evening. At such times I would catch glimpses of the sweetest part of his nature. He used to love to go fishing, and almost always would take me with him, reveaUng then real tenderness and affection. He was as gentle in the expression of his loving nature as he was stem in the practice of his rod philosophy. Mother was born of humbler parentage, and 16 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT therefore could not boast of a "Donna" before her name. But she was gentleness itself and the very embodiment of aU that goes to make a truly noble woman. While yet quite young, she lost her father, who was captain and owner of a vessel, on the rocky and treacherous sea of Quarnero. This cast a veil of sadness over her whole Hfe. But it was a sadness in which was interwoven a tenderness su premely sweet; it shone in her jet-black eyes and her deHcately transparent face, which always beamed with a smile beneath her broad, noble forehead and her rich waving hair. She was stately in body, beautiful in soul, patient beyond compare, prudent and systematic in home management, ever busy with her large family, constantly sheltering us from the stormy nature of father, ever kind to servants, and gentle even to "Fanfii" our white pet dog, who had the unhappy faculty of making ever more work for her by tearing as many of our clothes as he could possibly get hold of. Mother's name was Angela and her face and character were those of an angel. She left an indeHble impression upon the lives of us all. There was one phase of my mother's life which gives me grief as I think of it. Because she was bom of humble parentage, she was looked upon somewhat condescendingly by relatives on my father's side, most of whom Hved not upon present merits, but in the glory of their heritage. Some A VatIVE of ancient APULIA 17 of them even went so far as to attempt to create a similar attitude on the part of her children toward her; but I am happy to say their efforts were in vain, so deep was our love for mother. A similar attitude was maintained by some relatives toward an aunt of mine. Though she was a beautiful char acter, a woman of refinement and rare accompHsh- ments, because she was a native of Flume and therefore not an ItaHan, she was looked upon as a despised "foreigner" by those members of our paternal family who Kved in the glory of the has- been. There were eight children in my father's home, four sisters, all older than myself, and three broth ers, aU younger. We had a happy Hfe together, having pretty much the same kind of experiences and the same kind of play-Hfe as children do all over the world. We were not privileged to have many toys other than those of our own making. My oldest sister had a complete set of deHcate doll house furnishings, but aside from this, I do not recall that any of us had very much to play with. We boys spent so much time in the out-of-doors that the thought of toys never entered our minds. Naturally, we sometimes had our quarrels, and I seemed to have been the thorn in the flesh, especially in the lives of my sisters. And yet we loved each other profoundly. To one of my sisters, Agata, I took a special fancy. Perhaps it was because she was 18 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT so different from the rest of us. She had hair which was almost red, which would have puzzled the eugenist to explain, for certainly there was none of that particular tint or anything near to it in our whole family. Agata was also different because of her almost Irish sense of humor. She would make us almost spHt our sides with laughter. She was a very independent human being, insisting among other things on choosing her own lovers without reference to the wishes of the family. I remember how enraged I became with one of her lovers for capturing her exuberant and lovely affection. Though I was a mere midget, I set out to pimish him, and meeting him by the Great Gate one evening, I started to kick and to bite him. While we all received instruction of various kinds, dealing mainly with good manners and proper con duct, our reHgious education was very Hmited, almost a negligible factor in our Hves. Religion iwas considered primarily a woman's function, un necessary to men, and a matter about which they continually joked. Even for the women of our household, religion consisted simply in going to con fession perhaps once a month and in going to mass every Sunday. We children continuously heard our I male relatives speak disparagingly of religion, if ! reHgion it could be caUed. They would speak of the corruption of the Church. The men also complained of the exorbitant expenditure of money in cormec- A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 19 tion with the numerous feasts. Father might have been called a "modernist." He had no particular interest in the reHgious system of his town and times, and although mother and grandmother were very devout, I remember attending Sunday School only once in all my boyhood days. Grandmother would take me to mass and would talk to me about becoming a priest, but it was most boresome to me. We were taught the catechism in a perfunctory way. The only religious reading I ever did as a boy, — I was about ten years of age, — ^was once when I was left alone in the house. I ransacked the place, as boys will, and finaUy ran across a book of "Bible stories." How such a book ever got into our home I cannot say. I squatted myself down on the floor and devoured some of the chapters. All the while I was conscious of my wickedness in reading such stories, but it did not occur to me that my grandmother was sinful for having such a book in her house. Even so, to me that reading was most sweet. One of the stories was that of the Resurrection of Jesus. It made a deep impression upon my mind. It puzzled me; I could not figure out how Jesus could walk again on earth after he was dead. But I never let it be known that I had read the story. I was afraid I would be punished for reading the "Bad Book." The relations between the various households of our whole family were in the main most cordial. Ours 20 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT was a social existence as trvdy spontaneous and beautiful as it was natural. All the long Hue of relatives, uncles, aunts and cousins of every degree lived in Molfetta. This gave us an opportunity for much social intercourse. We had a custom of fre quently getting together in the evenings for social good times. The word would be given out that on such an evening we were to meet in this or that home. We generally began to assemble soon after supper, and remained the entire evening, sometimes until quite late. The women would immediately form themselves into groups to discuss topics of interest to them, while the men, who generally came later, would gather about a table and play games. We children would squat ourselves on the tiled floor for frolic and games of our own. Occasionally we would sing folk songs and patriotic airs. If the accommodations afforded were sufficient, the adults would dance. The children were seldom permitted to join them except in the quadrille. It was never necessary to import music for such occasions, for our family, like every household in the length and breadth of Italy, could boast of plenty of mu sicians. One played the guitar, another the man- doHn, a third the flute, a fourth the cornet or trombone. Pianos were rare in our homes; first, because they were far too expensive, and then be cause they were not as "social" as the ready-to- carry instruments. On some occasions the women- A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 21 folk would put aside their dignity and burst into spontaneous froHcsome dances of their own to the quaint music of the tambourine. At these times, we had our greatest merriment. What a mirth-pro voking sight it was ; we children would stand on the "side Hnes" with sides almost spHtting with laughter, and I cannot refrain from bursting into the same kind of laughter as I write these lines. UsuaUy "eats" and drinks were served by the entertaining household; almonds, walnuts, raisins and stuffed dates or figs, with home-made cakes and candy. The best of the year's wine and "rosolio" — a deHcate Hquor — ^were served. The children were seldom allowed to touch the Hquors, and then in a much-diluted form. Frequently the beverages were served after the children, tired with play, had been put to sleep, a round dozen in each bed. Then the adults W9uld go on with "more interesting" sub jects, which they would not discuss in the presence of the children. More than once have I and some equally daring cousin boldly crept out of bed to take a peep or to Hsten through the keyhole and see what was going on. The party over, the children would be shaken partly awake, and in the midst of much weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth, each family would gather its brood and make its way through the darkened streets toward their own homes. I for one never troubled myself about the beautiful stars 22 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT of the ItaHan sky on such occasions, for I was generally in the land of I-am-stiU-asleep. Hanging to grandmother's arm and walking as in a trance, I would reach home as much in the land of Nod as though I had not been aroused at all. These festive occasions generally took place dur ing the more unpleasant months of fall and winter. For in the warmer months of spring and summer and early autumn, we, Hke everybody else, spent much of our time out-of-doors. For about six months of the year we went daily to the sea-baths ; the invigorating salt baths making it unnecessary for us to have indoor bathrooms. For nearly nine months of the year the local band gave concerts in the ViUa Garibaldi or on the Corso, and the people would throng to hear them. We would spend entire evenings taking a "passegiata," or leisurely stroll, up and down the Corso or by the quiet waters of the harbor. Invariably, we would sit in groups around the marble-topped tables of the cafes to eat a "gelato" (ice cream), or to sip a delicious "orzata" — an almond drink. Occasionally a group would go for a launch ride on the peaceful waters; for sheer beauty aAd enjoyment these rides could scarcely be surpassed. Especially on a moonHght night, as was often the case, the balmy air, the gentle breezes, the melodious strains of the songs of southern Italy, and the sweet music, of the A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 23 mandoHn or guitar wafted over the waters, made these truly enjoyable and memorable occasions. In the summer we used to go to the country, es- peciaUy at vintage time. I had an aunt who owned a large farm, and I was always invited there at grape-gathering time. It was the happiest season of all the year. I found my stomach Hmitless in its capacity for expansion. But best of aU was watch ing the whole process of wine-making; the men and women, with bent backs, cutting the clusters from the vines with their tiny sickles; the enormous cane or wicker baskets which the women and girls car ried on their heads ; the big wooden vats, with men naked up to their loins madly tramping the grapes to extract the juices; the quaint skins in which the new wine was poured; the odd-shaped "water wagons" to haul the "juice" to the town. Most of all I loved to listen to the plaintive songs which the "contadini" would sing. All this made vintage time the most pleasurable season of all the year. We had a wealthy distant relative who, though she managed to keep quite distant from aU of us, occasionaUy invited me, the namesake of our fam ily hero, to visit her at her villa in the country. The viUa was one of artistic beauty, with its walls pure white, red-tiled roof and deep-green trimmings. A picturesque stone waU covered with creeping vines completely surrounded it. Long winding paths, 24 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT with rich pergolas overhanging them, led from the road to the entrance. On either side and through out the grounds a veritable paradise of flowers; roses and tube-roses, carnations and HHes of every variety, morning-glories and pansies wafted their perfume through the balmy air. Stately trees arose as sentinels about the viUa, while here and there throughout the grounds fountains gushed forth their Hmpid waters and marble seats invited one to a Hfe of leisure. The viUa was furnished most luxuriously with costly rugs and vases and rare furniture from many lands. Not far from the villa and in bold contrast to it, stood the crude huts of the "contadini." These used to interest me greatly. They were cone-shaped little dweUings made of rough stone or a mud mix ture not unHke adobe. Each had a small opening which served as a doorway, while the roof had a small round hole which, served as both window and chimney. The floor was made of plain Mother Earth; stones were the only chairs, straw the only bed. In these huts lived the •"contadini" who worked on my relative's farm and made possible the up-keep of the large holdings which she possessed. Of all the seasons of the year, Christmas time was perhaps the most beautiful for the people as a whole. It was a season when a truly religious spirit per vaded every home. The weather was generally clear and calm, the sun at mid-day bright and beautiful, A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 25 the skies of the night fathomless, the stars innumer able and bright as gems. There was but little outward display at Christmas time. Save for the noise we boys made with the firing of fire-crackers and of rude Httle cannons of our own making, aU was tranquil and peaceful. In the perfect stillness of the night the humble trouba dours would wend their way from street to street, from alley to aUey, singing their melodious carols to the quaint music of the bagpipe and the flute. For a few centimes they would stop beneath a win dow to chant their ancient songs, while the people lying in their beds would Hsten to the melody as to a chorus of unseen angels. Christmas also was a time of real feasting. We had no Christmas trees or exchanging of gifts in Molfetta; in fact, we never knew of such a custom. True, we children hung up our stockings, but that was on St. Nicholas Day, the 5th of January, and instead of bothering with stockings, we preferred to hang up our adults' long-legged boots, which would hold much more. But so far as good things to eat were concerned, Christmas Day was the day of all the year. Every family, however poor, had a real feast. The very best of all the year's yield, kept for this occasion, would be brought forth. There were fruits of every kind; clusters of luscious grapes, quinces, pears, apples and pomegranates, long strings of figs, boxes of dates, and honey-dew melons 26 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT sweeter than honey ; aU would be disenthroned from their lofty pantry dominions from which for months they had been tempting the yearning eyes of chil dren, and placed before all to have and to hold until they could no more. Then there were big platters of home-made candies and cakes, fritters and cookies of every variety and shape, vegetables and meats of every conceivable sort — my mouth waters even now to think of the Christmas table of my childhood. The Christmas dinner in our home was a memor able occasion not alone because of the good things to eat, but also because of a special custom we had of showing our gratitude to our parents. For days before Christmas we would hunt high and low for letter paper with the best decorations and mottoes. Then we children would vie with one another in com posing the best letter or Httle poem to express our love for mother and father. Before the Christmas dinner, we would hide these in some place on the table, perhaps folded in a napkin, under the plate of father or mother, and even under the tablecloth. Our parents would first pretend not to see them, and would feign surprise when they were found, and the best part of the Christmas dinner was to hear father and mother read the letters we had written, and then pronounce which one was the best. On Christmas Eve the streets of Molfetta would be lighted by myriads of dimly-burning lamps. From every window of every house, however poor its A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 27 inhabitants might be, a small oil lamp would send forth its humble rays, until the whole town would be enveloped in a yellow haze of somber and subdued lights flickering their welcome to the Christ Child. On Christmas Eve too, was held the Midnight Mass. I remember of attending only once, but the memory of it is as vivid as if I had attended on this very night. Within, the Cathedral was all a mass of dazzHng Hght; candles flickered everywhere, even at the top of the pillars and on the uppermost cornices of the dome. Enormous candelabra with myriads of shining crystals cast their silver sheen upon the scene below. A purple velvet curtain hung from the top of the massive columns to the floor at the foot of the Great Altar, as if conscious of the stately dignity of its rich folds and golden fringes. Worshiping folk, young and old, rich and poor, thronged the church to its very doors. A spirit of quiet reverence pervaded all. As the midnight hour drew near, a deeper and more solemn stiUness crept over the great throng. Just before the hour of twelve, a silver bell tinkled softly. The great audience became breathless and, as one man, bended its knees, remaining a few moments thus in silent adoration. My child eyes looked on in wonderment on this matchless scene. The curtain before the Great Altar slowly parted without a sound, as if opened by angel hands. Splendor was added to splendor. From the choir loft a viol began to weave 28 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT a gentle web of music. And now a voice was heard softly chanting, then another and another, till of a sudden the whole choir burst forth in jubilant song as if a thousand thousand angel voices were swelling their refrain. The trumpets of the great organ sent forth sharp, joyous peals. It seemed as if Heaven itself had come to earth to greet the New Bom Child. The audience then arose, joining in an antiphonal song, after which the mass was said, and the throng silently wound their way homeward be neath the brilHant sky of the midnight hour. Impressive as was this event, there was something which took place in the intimate circle of our home which left a far more lasting impression. It was the Presepio — the Maiiger. For days before Christ mas Eve we boys would gather soil and sod, twigs and branches, and bringing them to the house, with boxes we would build a miniature Bethlehem. We would make Httle houses and winding roads, and plant Httle twig-trees until it looked Hke a natural hillside. On Christmas Eve father would open a box, which he kept sacredly locked all during the year, and we would take out myriads — so it seemed to us — of Httle terra-cotta figures, each representing a character in the story of the Nativity. Under his direction we would place each where it belonged ; the Magi just coming over the hiU, with only the heads of their camels showing ; far in a comer of the room, with a dim candle burning back of it, was the Star A NATIVE OF ANCIENT APULIA 29 of Bethlehem; over to the right were the Shepherds keeping their flocks by night; here were the people coming down the hiU with their gifts ; while near the floor was a Httle stable with Mary, Joseph and the Babe in the Manger. Then father would gather all his children in a half- circle about the Presepio, mother in the center sit ting in a small chair Hke the rest of us, and he would tell us the Story. A few candles cast a soft and gentle Hght upon the scene. With a long cane he would point to the various personages, and thus he would narrate to us the whole story of the birth of the Christ Child. As I write these Hnes, it is Christmas Eve, and exactly twenty years since I last sat aroimd the Presepio. Father and mother are gone to the land from whence there is no returning; the home of my childhood is no more, and I am in America, far, far from home. Sometimes, "Hke tides on a crescent sea beach" come longings for Italy and the scenes of my childhood. THE CALL OF THE SEA And I have loved thee. Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, Uke thy bubbles, onward; from a boy I wanton'd with thy breakers — they to me Were a delight; and if the freshening sea Made them a terror — 'twas a pleasing fear. For I was as it were a child of thee, And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. George Gordon Byron. CHAPTER II THE CALL OF THE SEA I MUST have been very young when I was first sent to school. Molfetta maintained a public kindergarten, to which weU-ordered families pent their children. The kindergarten was held in a very old building, once a monastery, which had been taken over by the government for school purposes. This was the only school building in the city and it housed all the school children from the kindergarten up through the elementary grades, as well as some of the "ginnasio" classes. I recall vividly the long dark halls and the endless lines of children seated on each side of long rows of tables, and playing with toys. I remember the tediousness of sitting day in and day out by one of those tables, and I can think of no particular contribution which kin dergarten instruction made to my life. As I grew older I was sent to the elementary school, to which 1 attendance is compulsory thoughout Italy. ' As I have already indicated, it was grandmother's plan, in which my father concurred, that I should prepare myself for a profession and thus follow in the footsteps of my grandfather. To that end, [33] 34 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT I was to go through the elementary grades and on through the "ginnasio" and the "Hceo" to the Uni versity. If a more scrutinizing eye had been watch ing the unfolding of my Hfe, however, it would have observed that the winds were driving my bark, at least for the time being, in an entirely different di rection. I do not wish to suggest that my father or my grandmother did not possess the average capacity for observation, but like many parents and relatives everywhere, instead of guiding the development of natural tendencies in child life, they tried to stifle them and to superimpose a cut and dried plan formulated long before my birth. I must have shown a tendency for other than school and professional life from my earliest days. For even my kindergarten books were covered with crude drawings of ships. My grade-school books, still preserved by an aunt of mine, are, from cover to cover, one solid mass of ship pictures. At every opportunity I would run away to the harbor, to play by the water's edge or on the ships. When I was held in check, I used to go up on the roof of the house in which I lived with grandmother and cast my eyes longingly toward the water and the ships. In stormy weather it used to give me a. feeling of special exaltation to watch the sailing skiffs driven before the wind. At night I would go up on the roof, and stretching myself flat on my back, I would look up into the infinite depths of that southern sky and count the stars or follow the THE CALL OF THE SEA 3.5 moon in her hastening course through the fleecy clouds. My toys did not consist of blocks or sand pile, but ships and everything that had to do with the sea. My dreams at night were almost inva riably of ships, of oceans and far countries. I even dreamed sometimes that I could walk on the waters and go to the countries beyond the horizon. Cities of which I had heard or read became con crete realities in my mind's eye; I could have de scribed some of them very minutely many years be- fore my dream was reahzed and I actually saw them. Every "soldo" or penny I could lay my hands on was spent for little play-ships. I remember one instance when fifty centimes worked an instanta neous miracle of heaHng. I was ill with some minor ailment. My father came to see me and gave me the money. That very afternoon I was perfectly well again and might have been seen squatted on the sidewalk fitting into place on one of my Httle toy-ships some Httle riggings which the money had bought. The call of the sea was in my very soul, and in proportion as it made itself felt, to that extent all other interests were unconsciously being crowded out of my boy life. School held absolutely no in terest for me. I would rather any time spend my days in or by the water than eat, to say nothing of carrying a book under my arm, and I can act- uaUy recall spending whole days by the water side. But the more that aU-impelHng power drove me, 36 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT the tighter was the circle of restriction drawn about me. Did I stay away from school to play by the beach, punishment was sure to foUow at home, and to this was invariably added the punishment by my teachers. Of one I have a gruesome memory, be cause of the special forms of torture which he used. I remember that once he made me kneel on the desk platform for an hour or more with my hands under my knees. Another time he pinched my flesh be tween his fingers and twisting it, held it until I was exhausted and faint with pain. On still another oc casion he locked me in a large room and left me there all night. All this because in each case I had been absent from school the day before. But what of it.? Was not an irresistible power driving my life, and could I be responsible for the direction in which it was leading me.'' It was the call, the call of the sea; the heaving, mighty sea, it was calling me. At every opportunity I followed it. I clearly re member the first time I heard the call of a siren whistle. I must have been about ten years of age. One morning, long before rising time, I heard from the direction of the harbor an ugly noise. When the time came for me to start to school, my little feet led me in another direction. I went to the mole to see with my own eyes what kind of a monster was this which poured forth such frightful shrieks. Time passed and I forgot all about school; I loi tered near the EngHsh coal freighter in the hope of THE CALL OF THE SEA 37 hearing the siren blow again. There I remained until evening, my noonday luncheon standing me in good stead. I finaUy contrived to get on board the steamer and was about to make my way to some advantageous position from which I could examine with care the noisy instrument which had awakened me that morning, when I felt the grip of a mighty hand on the seat of my trousers, pulling me down with vengeance. I did not need to look to see who it was or what it was aU about. I knew. It was my father. My absence frOm school had already been reported to him, and grandmother, too, had gone to him with her usual account of my non-ap pearance for my after-school lunch. My father "escorted" me home, but not with gentleness. And for weeks afterward I had Hvid recollections of the EngHsh coal freighter and its siren whistle. In time I learned to sail a boat and I began to make frequent trips out upon the Adriatic. On more than one occasion I came near getting into serious trouble. One evening a school mate and I were saiHng aU by ourselves, when a stiff breeze caught our Httle boat and swept it along mercilessly. We did not know where we were going. Toward midnight we found ourselves almost upon the rocks near Trani, some fifteen kilometers from Molfetta. Just then a gust of wind flapped the sail over the mast and the boat all but capsized. How we man aged to reach shore safely I cannot say. As time went on I naturally became associated 38 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT with boys of like incHnation, and soon found myself the leader of a group, caH it a "gang" if you will, made up of sea-loving boys, whose one passion was their beHef in the sovereignty of the sea. Pattern ing our actions after the militaristic environment in which we lived, we organized ourselves into a mil itary unit. We had wooden guns and swords, and wooden cannons properly mounted on wooden wheels. We had our drills and maneuvers. One day we were to meet to engage in mortal conflict a gang of "land lubbers" whom we hated. We drew up in military array in front of a little church in Molfetta vecchia, ready for the onset. Our wood en swords covered with silver paper shone in the sunlight. Our wooden rifles were lifted in air; the national colors, made of tissue paper, waved resplendently. The "fanfara"- — bugle band — with instruments made of contorted hands and wiggHng fingers, was playing. We were getting nervous and eager for the battle, when to my utter amazement I saw what looked like a gigantic figure coming toward me. It was one of my uncles. He took me by the ear and dragged me out from my position of military importance at the head of my gang-bat talion. 0, the humiliation of an officer being pulled from his post in this manner! Who' in all the an nals of warfare had ever heard of such a thing? Of course I was punished, but neither the humiliation which I suffered nor the punishment I received at the hands of my uncle could compare with what THE CALL OF THE SEA 39 came to me a few days later, when some of the "enemy," enraged over my having been the cause of breaking up one of the most important battles of the season, saw to it that I got what they con sidered my just dues. Thus I suffered for my mil itaristic tendencies, for wanting to uphold the sov ereignty of the sea on the one hand, and, on the other, for indirectly causing a period of peace to come over the neighborhood boys. There were at least two occasions during the year when our sea-loving gang was liable to get into trouble. One of these was Carnival. Carnival was a time of special carousing in Molfetta and elsewhere. Almost every one went about in masque rade. Long, loose gowns, somewhat on the order of those worn by the Ku-Klux IQan, were the order of the day. Hoods with holes for the eyes were worn over the head. Tlie women wore elaborate cos tumes, especiaUy at the dances. But the most exciting part of Carnival, so far as we boys were concerned, came with the confetti. These were not the sham paper confetti such as are used at wed dings in America, but real hard candy, sometimes filled with almonds or liquor. Although I gen erally had some difficulty in getting into costume because father did not approve of it, and grand mother was always afraid I would get hurt, I us ually managed to get in with my gang. We would get hold of all the confetti we could and make the rounds of the homes of the girls who claimed our 40 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT special attention. When they appeared on the bal cony or at a window we would shower them with confetti. If a girl did not Uke us she would gen- eraUy shut the window in our faces ; whereupon, in keeping with custom, we would throw candy even more furiously than before, regardless of damage to the windowpanes. At Carnival, we also tried to get in at some dance, at least as onlookers. My father was very strict about this and I scarcely ever attempted to go. Once I managed to get in at a public dance, but again a big man, my uncle, caught me by the ear, and I had to go. The other occasion which usually brought the "gang" into some kind of difficulty was the feast of San Conrad, which comes in August. San Con rad is the Patron Saint of Molfetta, and is reported to have performed great miracles. It is a time of great feasting. The whole city is decorated. Along the Corso a continuous archway is built, draped with gay colors, and at night myriads of little oil lamps of different shades are lighted. Dur ing the morning there is a procession, and late at night there is a display of fireworks, lasing until near dawn. One year while the fireworks were being displayed, our group of boys, roaming about from place to place, ran across a young cleric, a friend of ours. He suggested that an uncle of his had a large vine yard four or five kilometers out of town, and that THE CALL OF THE SEA 41 if we wanted to, instead of going home after the fireworks, we could go out to the vineyard and have all the grapes we wanted. Without hesitating we acted upon his suggestion, and about one o'clock in the morning we started for the country. Toward dawn we reached a beautiful vineyard of white grapes. This, our young cleric informed us, was his uncle's place. We made short work of strip ping a few vines of their luscious fruit, pfling the grapes on our coats, which we had spread upon the ground. Then we sat in a circle and ate until we could eat no more. We played ourselves hvmgry again, and again we feasted on more grapes. It was now getting toward ten o'clock; and some one sug gested that we had better return. We decided to do so, but it was agreed that we should generously pro vide ourselves with enough of the deHcious fruit to last us at least until we should reach town. We filled our handkerchiefs and our pockets ; we stored away grapes in caps and blouses. As we started on our way we heard shots fired into the air and saw the country police hot on our trail. Apparently they had been lying in wait for the right moment to pounce upon us. We called to our young cleric friend to come to the front and explain to the police that this was the vineyard of his uncle. But the cleric ran at double speed, one speed for our caU and one to flee from the poHce. We all took to flight, throwing our grape-laden handkerchiefs as we went, emptying our Saps and hats, our pockets 42 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT and blouses, until the whole roadside was strewn with abandoned booty. Two other boys and I found ourselves together on a side road. We kept on run ning, stopping now and then to see if the poHce were following. Finally we caught up with a rack loaded with hay. We pleaded with the driver to let us hide in his load. We did so, but Hke the os trich, we were simply waiting for our doom. The guards came up. Whether the driver gave us away we never knew, but we did find out that aU. three of us were in the hands of the "carabinieri" and were being taken to town. The policemen were deaf to our pleadings and promises of repentance — that' repentance which is only sorrow for having been caught. They led us to police headquarters and our parents were notified. Toward evening my father came to pay my five-Hre fine, and I was re leased. He took me home and then there was music : he surely took not five but a hundred-lire's worth out of me that night. More or less the same lot befell all the other boys. ;. As soon as we had sufficiently recovered from the flesh fines we had to pay and had again found our bearings, we called a special meeting in one of our secret holes back of the long mole. And then something else happened. One evening, dark and dreary, we called our friend the cleric into compulsory association with us, and that night each of us took our five-Hre's worth with compound interest out of his hide, and THE CALL OF THE SEA 43 finished him up with a good ducking, in all his priestly robes, in the waters of the harbor. He promised never to do it again, and he never had the chance ! Another escapade cost me the sight of my right eye. As I have already indicated, it was a Christ mas custom for boys to shoot off fire-crackers and other fireworks. One evening our gang secured a number of empty cartridges and some powder, and loading them, went from street to street firing them. In a "portone" it was my turn to touch the match to the fuse. Besides the powder the car tridge was loaded with stones to make all the noise possible. I Ughted the match and in less time than it takes to tell it, the explosion took place and I was running at mad speed through the street totally blinded and in an agony of pain. Some one led me home. Father came home soon, having heard the sad news. And he who was usually so stem was now melted with tenderness. I remember so well how he came to my bedside, bent over me and asked if I could see "papa's face." When I replied in the negative, he hugged and caressed me and burst into a torrent of tears. It seems as if I can still feel those tears dropping upon my face. The retina of the right eye was broken and the sight permanently injured. Perhaps had the science of optometry been as far advanced in those days as now, my sight might have been saved. Another event, added to all this, made every one 44 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT in the family, save mother and grandmother, con clude that I was a tmly bad boy. This event was my running away from my first confession. J On a given Sunday, Easter I think it was, I was to be confirmed. My dear grandmother spent weeks pre paring for this occasion. The event interested me solely because of the new suit I was to wear, with my first long trousers, and because my aunt was making all kinds of special sweets. The thing it self, the coming confirmation, excited no concern in my mind. One afternoon during the week preceding the great day, I was taken by my aunt to our fam ily priest, who looked after all our spiritual needs and ailments. I was to confess to him, and on the following Sunday my confirmation was to take place. It was early in the afternoon when we reached the church. We waited in the sacristy until the priest came out. After my aunt had chatted with him for a while, he took me by the hand and led me into a large dark room. In the center of it was a great throne-Hke chair, which I saw while the door was open. After the door -y^s closed, he led me in the darkness to the chair, and seating himself in it, asked me to kneel at his feet. As I was in the act of kneeHng, I suddenly became be wildered, and I was dazed. The door had not been completely shut and a streak of Hght came through the opening. Quicker than it takes to tell it, I was on my feet, had pushed the door open, rushed by my aunt, who looked on in open-mouthed wonder, and THE CALL OF THE SEA 45 had gone out to play by the shore of my beloved sea. It was my first and only confession. All these incidents, coming as they did within a period of about three years, led all my relatives, with the exception of mother and grandmother, to conclude that there was nothing good In the boy over whose birth they had so rejoiced. As I look back upon it now, I reaHze that it was only a natural rebellion against the fact that my relatives were attempting to crush out the strongest passion of my life. Father now took personal charge of me, and forgetting, or perhaps not understanding, the fundamental laws of life, he set out to drive from my mind the very thought of following the sea. He planned and carried out a definite puni tive expedition into the territory of my growing youth. Like many parents, dear father mistook coercion for discipline and compulsion for guidance. This was the way in which he attempted to turn my mind from the sea. In Molfetta, which at best is somewhat of a primitive society, castes are a part of the laboring world. There are certain types of work, especially all forms of manual labor, which are considered below the dignity of the best families, and which, if followed by any of them, constitute a disgrace. Now my father thought that by subjecting me to the humiliation of menial work, he could drive me back to school in a more sober state of mind. His abstract logic made him bHnd to Nature's all-compelling imperatives. He first 46 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT put me to work in the foundry, then in the soap factory, in a blacksmith's shop, in a cobbler's place and in the electric plant. Strange as it seemed to all my relatives whose dignity was thus offended, I liked it. It meant new experiences, and it gave me opportunity to put into unrestricted use the cre ative powers of my youth. Then too, when I real ized that I was earning money by the sweat of my toil, it gave me a sense of new life. Moreover, my earnings afforded me a chance to buy more things for my little ships. This experience gave me a new consciousness of freedom. IncidentaUy, it was while working in the soap factory, where we made Castile soap, which was shipped to America, that I had my first vague desire to visit some day that far-off country. Realizing that this new tack was not bringing about the desired result, my father determined to force me to go back to school at any cost. For a long time he personally accompanied me to the school in order to make sure that I attended. It was about this time that an opportunity came which, if utilized rightly, might have changed the whole course of my life, had my people but seen it. A certain Professor Rossi from northern Italy had interested a wealthy man, perhaps a native or former resident of Molfetta, to invest some money in the organization of a boys' band in our city. He sent down an expert teacher with full power to select forty boys, train them, supply THE CALL OF THE SEA 47 them with instruments and uniforms, and lead them to success. I do not remember whether there was some form of an eliminating contest, nor how I came to be selected, but I was chosen to play one of the two first comets. We were put through a period of intensive training, and as I recaU it, in a remarkably short time were ready to make our first pubHc appearance. For my part I was having a most delightful time and was behaving myself very weU. But grandmother again stepped in to inter fere. She may have thought that if I became too deeply interested in the band I would deviate from her well-planned scheme for my Hfe. But whatever the reason, forgetting the cries of my childhood days, she insisted that playing the comet was too hard for my lungs and that I must be taken out of the band, and she persuaded my father to do so. The band went on with its training, and soon made its appearance on the streets of the city. The whole town turned out to witness the event. The boys in their, to me, wonderful red uniforms, marched up and down the Corso amid the applause of the populace, and my eyes stuck out in envy, and my heart ached in utter misery. Subsequently, the band made a tour of the principal cities of Italy, winning several prizes and gaining national recognition. If there was any one thing which in my boyish heart I could never forgive grandmother for, it was her influencing my father to take me out of the band. 48 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGEANT Notwithstanding aH these boyhood straggles, I had managed by this time to pass all my grades and was ready to go on to the "ginnasio." Grand mother now directed that I should enter the Seijif nary where young boys were trained for the priest^ hood. In spite of all that had happened, the orig inal plan whereby I was to become great was still ever-present in her mind: "First priest, then teacher, and .^then statesman." My father was decidedly disinclined to make a priest out of me, both be cause of his natural Hberalism and because he knew too much of the corruption of certain institutions. Then too, he was becoming somewhat discouraged over the way my life was tending. Nevertheless, he consented, and I was placed in the Seminary. To my boyish soul, with aU its love for the open life, this was worse than everything else. It was like a dungeon to me, a tomb in which I found myself buried alive. The long corridors, the dark recitation haUs, the cell-Hke dormitory rooms, were repulsive beyond comparison. Stone, cold stone everywhere, and not a breath of fresh air to breathe. To my nostrils, with the love of the ex hilarating aroma of the sea, they smelled Hke cat acombs. Around the whole enormous building was an iron fence some twelve feet high, with spear heads on the top. During recreation periods when we were allowed to go out on the narrow strip of ground around the institution, I would stand by the bars and look out longingly into the free world. THE CALL OF THE SEA 49 One evening I saw some of my boy friends playing near the Villa Garibaldi opposite, and I tried to t away. First I tried to scale the fence, but ?iling in this, I attempted to squeeze through the -^ars, only to find myself caught between them with my head out in the free world and my body unable *to pass through. I became frightened and had to be pulled out by the "guardiano," or gateman. More than the place itself I hated my teachers, especiaUy my professor in mathematics ! One night I came in with my lesson unprepared. He took me through one of those long dreary halls into a physi ological and chemical laboratory, with all its hor rible smeUs. Cunningly, he lighted a sulphur match. In the Hght of its ugly, purplish glow, he drew aside a curtain ; before me stood a skeleton ! It frightened me stiff, but it had no effect on the de velopment of my mathematical bump. Later, one evening I came again with my lesson unprepared. In a fit of anger he split my head wide open with a ruler. With blood streaming- down my face I ran to the gate, fought with the gateman and man aged to escape. My father was furious, and for the first time he saw the way the winds of my life were blowing, and the absolute futility of forcing this sort of training upon me. He did not insist upon my returning, and that was the last of my school life in Italy. The years covered by all these events were cer tainly tempestuous ones, and they came near prov- 50 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT ing fatal to my Hfe. As I look back upon all that, consciously or unconsciously, I suffered in those ten der years, I entertain no ill feeHngs. Rather, a feeling of great tenderness comes over me as I think of all the pain that I must have caused my parents and especially my dear grandmother, who had fas tened all her hopes upon me for the perpetuation of what was to her a great family heritage. It was simply a matter of misconception of guidance, and for that they were not to blame. For they, Hke thousands upon thousands of people throughout the world, were blind to the inherited tendencies of life, and tried to force upon me a plan which was not in harmony with all those tendencies im planted within my soul long before my birth. They did not press their ear to my boy-soul; they did not hear what I heard, nor see what I saw. It was the call, the mighty call of the sea, the undying call for the larger life. And it was that call that in a not far-distant day was to lead me to America, there to find the opportunity for a true unfolding. AMEBICA America, dear motherland of men. Age after age lodestar of immigrants. Hark to these peoples crying in the mist! Here, where you loose your cities on the sea. Leviathans of lightning — spire on spire. Palace and hanging garden of the waves. Whose spacious splendors house the lords 6f life — Here, under all, cramped in their vitals, swarm The seekers after life — ^the slaves of toil. With hearts of yearning, O remember these — And feed the awful hunger of their hearts I Percy MacKaye. CHAPTER in AMEBICA IN the winter of 1897 I had reached the age of thirteen. My relatives, at last seeing the way the winds of my life were blowing, consented to let me go to sea. Securing a written permission from my parents, I applied for and received a sailor's pass book. Then I enroUed in the crew of a coast ing schooner, the Angelo, as a "mozzo" (HteraUy, "a stub") or sailor boy, and began to make ready for the great adventure which was ultimately to land me in America. And now all that was beautiful and tender in the Uves of my relatives was sweetly revealed. As after a period of sullen weather. Nature suddenly loosens her chiUing grip and blossoms into radiant sunshine, so now all that had been curbing and repressive in their attitude became gladsome expression. The very persons who' had vied one with another in declaring the sea-impas sioned lad wayward, unruly and bad, now unloosed their deep-seated affection for me by doing all man- mer of things to make my approaching departure [53] 54 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT a memorable event. One uncle bought a sea chest, and equipped it with all those Httle tools and trin kets so necessary to the Hfe of a sailor; another made me a sailor bag, with funny eyelets and locks. One aunt contributed piUow sHps and stockings; another gave me some fine woolen blankets ; a third towels and handkerchiefs. Grandmother's heart was almost breaking. In the approaching depar ture of the boy of her love, she saw the fading for ever of her dreams. Her gentle hands and her ten der heart could not do enough; during that winter she wove her very soul into the stockings and un derclothing which she knitted with her own hands, and into the thousand and one Httle things which she made to contribute to my comfort. Some of these things I have treasured through the years. She made me a small mattress and small pillows, soft as down, which fitted snugly into a large sailor bag, later to accompany me to America, where I was to lose them. As spring drew near and with it the day of my departure, every one brought all kinds of eatables and tokens of love. On the day the ship left the harbor they all came to the mole to see me sail away toward the worlds of my dreams. Toward sunset on the fifth of April, 1898, the Angelo raised anchor and spread her sails to a favorable breeze. The sea was smooth, the air was balmy, the sky clear as crystal. Molfetta was AMERICA 55 wrapped in the splendor of the setting sun. The Byzantine towers stood boldly out Hke mighty senti nels against the mddy, western sky. With dusk Molfetta began to fade until it died away in the soft hues of the evening skies. I was leaving Mol fetta destined to be hers no more! The Angelo was bound for Fiume, a city which of late has acquired international fame. On the way we stopped at various ports either to avoid un favorable weather or to take on provisions. The first place we dropped anchor at was a natural cove of unsurpassing beauty. A great rocky arm en closed the waters so completely as to make the sea without wholly invisible. Surrounding it Hke a crown was a range of high mountains. On their summit, the trees Hfted their heads to the breeze, while below the waters were wholly tranquil, save for the gentle ripples made by the fishes jumping here and there. Off in the distance was the only sign of Hfe: a fisherman's Httle hut on a small beach. It was one of Nature's beauty spots, and its virgin freshness and rugged grandeur left an undying impression upon my boy-soul. The awe-inspiring phenomenon of the mirages of the Dalmatian Coast left also a never-effaced im pression. No childish dream could possibly paint a more fairy-like picture. The innumerable little islands of that coast, with the few trees rising on their crests, and the smaU fishing and merchant 56 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT ships were now and again lifted into the bosom of the heavens, making dream scenes reaHties. Our little ship often lay immovable upon its own re flection, the sails hanging lazily from the masts, more beautiful than any painted ship upon a painted ocean; while by day and by night Nature unfolded her matchless beauty about us in sunrise and sunset wonders and balmy weather. When, years afterward, I read "The Ancient Mariner," my mind instinctively went back to those matchless scenes of the Dalmatian Coast, to my first voyage, and to the first realization of the dreams of my childhood. 1 For a year and a half I made frequent voyages j back and forth between Molfetta and various points on the Adriatic. During these trips we touched at all the principal ports of Italy and Dalmatia ; Brin disi, Bari, Foggia, Ancona, Ravenna, Venice, Triest, Pola, Fiume, Zara, Sebenico, and others. Some of these spots are enshrined in natural grandeur aU- surpassing. The very sight of them brought pro found satisfaction and left lasting imprints upon the retina of my mind's eye. But soon I had seen "all the world" on the Adriatic, and my gaze began to turn toward other and wider horizons. "For it's 'all day' with you when you answer the cue" says Robert Service. Other worlds were calling, and I heeded the call. Meanwhile, mother, father and dear grandmother AMERICA 57 had aU died. Some one was unkind enough to say that it was because of pain, pain over my "im- pertinenza," that they had gone. My child eyes stared in amazement; I wondered if this was so. However, the fact was that grandmother died of age — she was over 85 — ^while both father and mother had died in the midst of a strenuous effort to save their children from a scarlet fever epidemic which swept over Molfetta and carried away many of its inhabitants. Our home was broken up, the girls soon afterward married, while the three other boys were taken over by relatives. And now securing permission from Uncle Carlo, who had been appointed our legal guardian, I set out upon paths which led to more distant lands. He loaned me fifty lire, and two days after Christ mas in 1899, I started for Genoa, the leading sea port of Italy. There I embarked on board mer chant ships, mainly steamers, and for over a year I made voyages to different parts of Europe. We went to Alexandria, but I do not even remember how the city looked. Of Greece I remember the charm of the Mge&n Islands and Athens, slumbering in the peace of centuries. Of Constantinople I recall the majesty of St. Sophia, the squalor of the sordid streets and the enchanting beauty of the city of min arets reflected in the tranquil waters of the Sea of Marmora. The very name "the Black Sea" brings back the memory of black, ugly clouds hovering low 58 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT Hke vultures upon the darksome waters. Of the Danube I can only remember its muddy color and the enormous river barges dragged by mules along the shore. Roumania brings back the picture of an cient villages and of women loading the steamer with enormous baskets of grain which they carried upon their heads, aU the while puffing at huge pipes. Wales brings to my ear the plaintive songs of the Welsh, while Edinburgh brings to mind the dense fogs, the ugliness of its down-town streets and my first sight of ice covering a body of water. While visiting these various European countries, my eyes had often turned longingly toward the west, to the continent beyond the setting sun, on the other side of the great Atlantic. Some day I was going to see America. At last my opportunity came. In Genoa I heard of a new brig, the Fran cesco, which was to make her maiden voyage to America, AustraHa, the South Sea Islands and thence through the Suez Canal back to Genoa, her starting point. The voyage was to last about thirty months. I sought and secured a place on her crew, with the thought that at the end of this voy- i age I would return to Molfetta and settle down for the rest of my life. Destiny, however, had decreed otherwise. On a day not far-distant, without even dreaming of it, I was to become a part of America. It wiU doubtless be of interest to the reader to see the picture which I had of America as I AMERICA 59 turned my face westward. It is generally sup posed that immigrants, as they turn their steps to ward America, have a true idea of what the country is like, its life, its institutions, its natural resources and beauty. How true this is wUl appear from the picture of America which follows. This is all the more significant because I had lived my childhood in an immediate environment where education was the rule. I had also come in contact with persons who had traveled widely, particulaily my seafaring uncle, and it would seem that I ought to have had a true mental picture of America. Of course, like every Italian boy, I had heard from earHest childhood of America, the continent which "Colombo," one of our countrymen, had long ago discovered. However, my idea of America was as misty as that of the Old World on the day when Columbus returned from his famous voyage. Rub bing its eyes and stretching out its arms as if awakening from a sleep of centuries, it began to realize that a new day had dawned in the history of mankind. We used to sing a song ; it was about thirty stanzas long, and it told all the story of that famous voyage, but it had nothing in it about the continent he had found, or what was on that conti nent in our day. Like every boy who goes through the third grade of Italian schools, I had read the story of America in De Amici's famous book, "II Cuore." But while that story, "From the Appe- 60 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT nines to the Andes" is one of unexcelled imaginative beauty, it gives little or no details of the country beyond the setting sun, of its people, its institu tions, its life in general. Moreover, that story deals with South America rather than North Amer ica. Now that is one point of interest in the picture I had of America in my childhood ; to me there was no distinction between North and South America. There was but one America. I had read something of Boston and New York, but the words brought only a vague and indefinite idea to my mind. Even Montevideo and Buenos Ayres, of which I had heard much, were far from definite and concrete realities. Two things alone I seemed able to pic ture; the vast stretches of virgin lands and the great, winding rivers. I had read something of the Indians, who were very much like the cannibals of my childhood stories. The uncle to whom I have already referred would often recount stories of his voyages to America, but these presented vague pic tures and were invariably connected with thriUing experiences with pirates which he had had off the coast of that continent. Such persons as had emi grated from Molfetta had usuaUy gone to South America, and when they returned, they told stories of the money they had made rather than giving descrip tions of the country and its people. I remember only one person whom I ever heard say anything AMERICA 61 about the country itself; a man who had worked as cook on board a barge at Rio de Janeiro. He was wont to wax eloquent about the beauty of the coun try, the leisureHness of the people, the majesty of great rivers and the nuldness of the climate. He also, however, spoke principally of the money he had made. I knew of only one person who had gone from our smdU city to North America. He came to visit Molfetta when I was a smaU boy, and his visit left certain distinct impressions upon my mind. He had lived in America for several years. From what I recaU, it seems that he had changed his name whUe living in America, and therefore his family had lost aU trace of him, and considered him dead. They were friends of our famUy, and when he finaUy came back for a visit, I was much impressed. I re member him as clearly as if it were to-day. He could not speak our dialect any more. What little of the language he spoke was the pure ItaHan, which he had learned in America. I recaU also his purple, showy necktie, and a stickpin with bril liants. What impressed me most of all was the; white coUar which he wore. These things were great luxuries in our town, worn only by the weU-to-do, and not by "la gente," or common folks, to which he belonged. Another close-up view of America which I got in my childhood was that of what I thought were 62 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT American sailors on board an American steamer, which chanced to come to Molfetta. This was such a rare happening that of course I learned of it, and taking a special leave of absence from school, I went to caU upon the honorable gentlemen, the American sailors. For aU I know they may have been Chinese coolies, but as long as they were on board an American steamer, to me they were Ameri cans. There were several interesting and peculiar things about these American sailors. For one thing, they were v^y paragons of filth. I liked to hear them speak their foreign, and to me, "bar barian" language. I can recall to-day their shouts as they unloaded the coal. And most interesting of aU was the sight of them drunk on the streets of our lit tle Molfetta, where drunken persons were never seen. They had gone ashore, and taking advantage of the inexpensiveness of our good Molfettese wine, they had laid in a goodly provision of it, and from the way they staggered about the streets, it was evi dent that they had stored away within their bodily cellars slightly more than they could carry weU. We boys followed them from street to street, and made sport of them in order to hear their funny jabbering. Another glimpse of America, strangely contra dictory to the one I have just related, came through a ship buUder who lived in Molfetta. This man was quite weU-to-do, and greatly respected in our town. He had been in America several years, had AMERICA 63 made money and returned to our city, where he had established a shipbuilding business of his own. He was,' however, considered one of the queerest and most extraordinary members of our Httle so ciety, for the reason that he did not drink wine or liquors of any kind. Some people had been skepti cal about the truth of this report, but professional gossipers had made a careful investigation and it was now generaUy accepted that this man, the strangest human being in our town, actually did not drink wine, even the Hght white wines for which Molfetta was famous. It was understood that he had acquired this freakish habit in America. Of course, in my childhood days I did not see the con nection between drunkenness of the American sailors on the one hand and the total abstinence of this man from Hquors on the other. Still another view of America had come to me through the eyes of a blind man. In my boyhood, he was a man of about fifty years of age; stone bHnd, and led about the streets by a small boy. The story was that, he had been in America, where he had worked "in campagna" — ^in the country — and that the cHmate was so hot that he had lost his eye sight by sun-stroke. He had been back in Molfetta for some twenty years. Apparently he had made some money before his retum, for he did not seem to be a mendicant like most of the Wind people of the town. To me the most striking thing about 64 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT this man was that he was the only person in Molfetta who could speak EngHsh, and he always acted as interpreter when English or American ves sels chanced to come to the city. It was this man who first awakened in me a desire to learn the Eng lish language. I used to think that if I could learn English and become an "interrupter" myself, I would be in the height of my glory. From some source I got the idea that America was a continent of great forests, and that the trees when cut grew again, not new trees, but that they grew up again from the stumps, and that by this method of growth America was always covered with great stretches of forests. Now it does not require a great artist nor a great stretch of the imagination to piece together these various fragments and create a picture of America as I saw it when I turned my steps west ward; rt was a great country, vast in its propor tions, vaguely- bgautifulj covered ^th forestsT^leis- urely-winding rivers and great stretches of farm lands. There were some large .cities Hke Montevi deo or Boston, a Httle larger perhaps than Genoa, or Naples, and all belonging to. the same counfa^r. It_ was so hot. that persons working in the fields became^ bHnd from sunstroke. In that country Hved manj_ pirates who attacked passing ships"; dirty drunken sail^s_who spoke a barbarian tongue ; the Indians, who were a sort of wild creatures on the order of AMERICA 65 cannibals. People from Molfetta went there and made much money. Some of them acquired strange habits, Hke not drinking wine or not speaking our dialect any more» wearing__whitfi. collars and purple neckties when they belonged to the "gente." Far be it from me to say that this is the mental picture which aU Italians have as they turn their faces toward America. Far be it from the reader to take it as seriously as a certain popular writer re cently did when he suggested that, because ItaHans have such a picture as this of America, they should be barred from entering this country. I only give it as my picture of America. I knew nothing of its people, its government, its institutions, its vast- ness and greatness. Soon, however, I was to be en riched and enlightened in ways I had not dreamed. For what is true of America is true of aU coun tries; no far-off gHmpse can give a correct pic ture of their peoples or institutions, and only as a person learns to know them intimately is he able to measure them in terms of real values. IN THE AMEBICAN STOBM Not that they starve, but starve so dreamlessly. Not that they sow, but that they seldom reap> Not that they serve, but have no gods to serve. Not that they die, but that they die like sheep. CHAPTER IV in the AMEBICAN STOBM THE Francesco put out to sea from Trapani, Sicily, on May 3, 1902, and a week or so later passed the PiUars of Hercules. Then she plunged into the wake of the trade winds and for about three weeks she saUed majesticaUy before them like a guU, stirring not a saU all the whUe. Then fol lowed a period of varying weather, which in turn was succeeded by a few days when the ocean was breath less and motionless. Frequently we could see whole schools of dolphins as they came to the surface, or monster whales spurting piUars of water into the air, a sight especiaUy beautiful on calm moonlit nights. The Httle brig had reached a distance of about three hundred miles from the coast of North Amer ica, when one day the very weight of heaven seemed to be pressing down upon her. The clouds were yeUow, suUen and angry-looking; the air was breathless with pent-up power. As the day advanced the barometer went lower and lower, and with the approach of evening this invisible, uncontrollable [69] 70 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT power seemed to be seizing the Httle ship as if with mighty claws. The sea rumbled beneath her, the thick masses of clouds pressed closer upon her, the waters became deep-dyed black. At five-thirty we heard the caU: "AU hands on deck," and a few moments later: "All sails in but lower-topsail and jib." CHmbing Hke monkeys after coconuts, we made short work of the task. We knew, however, that something more strenuous was coming. At six, just as the four bells were striking, the very bowels of sea and sky opened upon us with amazing suddenness and force. The seasoned Tuscan sailor, whose every word was wont to be an oath, struck with sudden fear, fell. upon his knees by the bulwark and began to say his prayers. Some one kicked him as you would a dog. The moment the terrific gale struck the ship it tore the heavy lower-top sail and flapped it madly in the air as if it were a piece of tissue paper. The brave Httle ship bent pitifully beneath the gale; its mainroyalmast was broken like a reed; its cargo was shifted to one side like a handful of pebbles, and its huU sprung a leak. The blast was over in an hour or so, but aU hands worked steadily for three days and nights to shift the cargo back in place, while four men were kept at the hand-pump night and day until we reached shore a week or more later. Some years afterward an American friend, reflect ing upon this incident as I had described it to him. IN THE AMERICAN STORM 71 remarked "That storm was indeed prophetic of your early experiences in America, was it not?" It may be that it was, and perhaps we shaU soon dis cover the analogy as it appeared in my friend's mind. On July 3rd, 1902, after a voyage of sixty-one day, the Francesco anchored in Boston Harbor. As the next day was the "Fourth," the city was already decked in festal array. The captain has tened to register his arrival. A boat was lowered, and I was ordered to take him ashore; thus it was my good fortune to be the first to touch land. "America!" I whispered to myself as I did so. In a day or two the ship was towed" to a pier in Charlestown, where it lay untU its cargo of salt was unloaded and a cargo of lumber consigned to Montevideo was. put on board of her. In the meantime a desire had arisen within me to retum home. There were several reasons for this. In the first place, it was becoming increasingly un pleasant for me to remain in the midst of that crew. It chanced that I was the only person on board hail ing from southern Italy; the rest of the men were mostly Genoese, with one or two Tuscans. Now, the feeling of sectional provincialism between north and south Itaiy~ls stiU so strong, and the North always assumes such airs of superiority, that I had become the butt of every joke and the scapegoat of every occasion. This was becoming more and 72 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT more unbearable, and as time went on I decided that my self-respect could not and would not stand it. To this was added the fact that the captain was one of those creatures who seem to be more brute than man, especially in dealing with youth. During that voyage he had more than once beaten me in a way that would have made the hardest punishments of my father blush. He was so cruel and unreason able that before he left Boston several of the crew, including the first mate, left him. In the face of these circumstances I began to think that if the captain would only let me go, I would return home. Accordingly, one day I went to him and very respectfully told him of my inten tion to retum to Italy immediately if he would per mit me, and would pay me the money which was due me. The stem, sea-hardened saUor brushed me aside without even an answer. A day or so later I again went to him; tliis time he drove me from his presence with a sharp kick. Whatever manhood there ever was in my being rose up and stood erect within me; with a determination as quick and as sharp as his kick had been, I decided I would now go at any cost. I began to look about for ways and means to carry out my determination. On the pier was an elderly watchman, an ItaHan by birth, who had been in America for several years. To him I con fided my difficulties. He was a sane and conserv- IN THE AMERICAN STORM 73 ative man, cautious in giving advice. My desire was to find a ship which was returning to some Euro pean port. He did not know of any, but one even ing he suggested that if worse came to worst, I could do some kind of work for a few days and thereby earn enough money to buy a third-class passage back to Naples, which at that time cost only fifty or sixty dollars. This gave me a new idea. I decided to take my destiny in my own hands and in some way find my way back to Italy. Two months had already passed since our arrival in Boston, and almost any day now the ves sel would take to sea. If I were to act it must be now or never. I had been ashore twice and had become acquainted with a barber near the pier. To him I also confided my troubles, and he offered to keep my few belongings for me, should I finaUy de cide to leave the ship. Late in the evening of September 8, 1902, when the turmoil of the street traffic was subsiding, and the sUence of the night was slowly creeping over the city, I took my sea chest, my sailor bag and all I had and set foot on American soU. I was in America. Of immigration laws I had not even a knowledge of their existence; of the English lan guage I knew not a word; of friends I had none in Boston or elsewhere in America to whom I might turn for counsel or help. I had exactly fifty cents remaining out of a dollar which the captain had 74 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT finally seen fit to give me. But as I was soon to earn money and retum to Molfetta, I felt no concern. My Charlestown barber friend took me in that first night with the distinct understanding that I could stay only one night. So the next morning bright and early, leaving aU my belongings with the barber, I started out in search of a job. I roamed about the streets, not knowing where or to whom to turn. That day and the next four days I had one loaf of bread each day for food and at night, not having money with which to purchase shelter, I stayed on the recreation pier on Commercial Street. One night, very weary and lonely, I lay upon a bench and soon dozed off into a Hght sleep. The next thing I knew I cried out in bitter pain and fright. A policeman had stolen up to me very quietly and with his club had dealt me a heavy blow upon the soles of my feet. He drove me away, and I think I cried ; I cried my first American cry. What became of me that night I cannot say. And the next day and the next. ... I just roamed aim lessly about the streets, between the PubHc Gar den with its flowers and the water^side, where I watched the chUdren at play, even as I had played at the water's brink in old Molfetta. Those first five days in America have left an impression upon my mind which can never be erased with the years, and which gives me a most profound I sense of sympathy for immigrants as they arrive. IN THE AMERICAN STORM 75 On the fifth day, by mere chance, I ran across a French sailor on the recreation pier. We imme diately became friends. His name was Louis. Just to look at Louis would make you laugh. He was over six feet taU, lank, queer-shaped, freckle-faced, with small eyes and a crooked nose. I have some times thought that perhaps he was the "missing Hnk" for which the scientist has been looking. Louis could not speak ItaHan; he had a smattering of what he caUed "itaHen," but I covdd not see it his way. On the other hand, I kept imposing upon his good nature by giving a nasal twang to Italian words and insisting on calling it "francese." We had much merriment. Two facts, however, made possible a mutual understanding. Both had been sailors and had traveled over very much the same world; this made a bond between us. Then too, we had an instinctive knowledge of "esperanto," a strange capacity for gesticulation and facial con tortion, which was always our last "hope" in making each other understand. Not far from the recreation pier on which we met is located the Italian colony of "North End," Boston. To this Louis and I made our way, and to an ItaHan boarding house. How we happened to find it and to get in I do not now recall. It was a "three-room apartment" and the landlady informed us that she was already "full," but since we had no place to go, she would take us in. Added to the host 76 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT )that was already gathered there, our coining made I fourteen people. At night the floor of the kitchen and the dining table were turned into beds. Louis and I were put to sleep in one of the beds with two other men, two facing north and two south. As I had slept all my life in a bed or bunk by myself this quadrupling did not appeal to me especially. But we could not complain. We had been taken in on trust, and the filth, the smeUs and the crowd ing together were a part of the trust. We began to make inquiries about jobs and were promptly informed that there was plenty of work at "pick and shovel." We were also given to under stand by our fellow-boarders that "pick and shovel" was practically the only work available to Italians. Now these were the first two English words I had heard and they possessed great charm. Moreover, if I were tO' earn money to retum home and this was the only work available for Italians, they were very weighty words for me, and I must master them as soon and as well as possible and then set out to find their hidden meaning. I practised for a day or two until I could say "peek" and "shuvle" to perfection. Then I asked a feUow-boarder to take me to see what the work was like. He did. He led me to Washington Street, not far from the colony, where some excavation work was going oh, and there I did see, with my own eyes, what the "peek" and "shuvle" were about. My heart sank within me, IN THE AMERICAN STORM 77 for I had thought it some form of office work ; but I was game and since this was the only work avaU- able for Italians, and since I must have money to retum home, I would take it up. After aU, it was | only a means to an end, and would last but a few days. It may be in place here to say a word relative to the reason why this idea was prevalent among Ital ians at the time, and why so many ItaHans on com ing to America find their way to what I had called "peek and shuvle." It is a matter of common knowledge, at least among students of immigration, that a very large percentage of Italian immigrants were "contadini" or farm laborers in Italy. Ameri can people often ask the question, "Why do they not go to the farms in this country?" This query is based upon the idea that the "contadini" were farm ers in the sense in which we apply that word to the American farmer. The facts in the case are that / the "contadini" were not farmers in that sense at \ all, but simply farm-laborers, more nearly serfs, working on landed estates and seldom owning their I own land. Moreover, they are not in any way ac quainted with the implements of modem American farming. Their farming tools consisted generally of a "zappa," a sort of wide mattock; an ax and the wooden plow of biblical times. When they come to America, the work which comes nearest to that i which they did in Italy is not farming, or even farm * 78 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT labor, but excavation work. This fact, together with the isolation which inevitably would be theirs on an American farm, explains, in a large measure, why so few ItaHans go to the farm and why so many go into excavation work. There is another factor to be considered, and that is that the 'pa drone" perhaps makes a greater per capita per centage in connection with securing and managing workers for construction purposes than in any other line, and therefore he becomes a walking delegate about the streets of Italian colonies spreading the word that only "peek and shuvle" is available. Now, though Louis and I had never done such work, because we were Italians we must needs adapt ourselves to it and go to work with "peek and shuvle." (I should have stated that Louis, desiring to be like the Romans while living with them, for the time being passed for an Italian.) So we went out to hunt our first job in America. For several mornings Louis and I went to North Square, where there were generaUy a large number of men loitering in groups discussing all kinds of subjects, particularly the labor market. One mom- ; ing we were standing in front of one of those in- ¦^femal institutions which in America are permitted to bear the name of "immigrant banks," when we saw a fat man coming toward us. "Buon giorno, padrone," said one of the men. "Padrone?" said I to myself. Now the word "padrone" in Italy is IN THE AMERICAN STORM 79 applied to a proprietor, generaUy a respectable man, at least one whose dress and appearance dis tinguish him as a man of means. This man not only showed no signs of good breeding in his face, but he was unshaven and dirty and his clothes were shabby. I could not quite understand how he could be caUed "padrone." However, I said nothing, first because I wanted to get back home, and second because I wanted to be polite when I was in Amerir can society ! ^ The "padrone" came up to our group and began "^ to wax eloquent and to gesticulate (both in SiciHan dialect) about the advantages of a certain job. I remember very clearly the points which he empha sized: "It is not very far, only twelve miles from Boston. For a few cents you can come back any time you wish, to see 'i parenti e gH amici,' your relatives and friends. The company has a 'shantee* in which you can sleep, and a 'storo' where you can buy your 'grosserie' aU very cheap. 'Buona paga'," he continued "(Good pay), $1.25 per day, and you only have to pay me fifty cents a week for having gotten you this 'gooda jobba.' I only do it to help you and because you are my countrymen. If you come back here at six o'clock to-night with your bundles, I myself will take you out." The magnanimity of this man impressed Louis and me very profoundly; we looked at each other and said, "Wonderful!" We decided we would go; 80 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT so at the appointed hour we returned to the very spot. About twenty men finaUy gathered there and we were led to North Station. There we took a train to some suburban place, the name of which I have never been able to learn. On reaching our destination we were taken to the "shantee" where we were introduced to two long op^ bunks_fiUed with straw. These were to be our beds. The "storo" of which we had been told was at one end of the shanty. The next morning we were taken out to work. It was a sultry autumn day. The "peek" seemed tO' grow heavier at every stroke and the "shuvle" wider and larger in its capacity to hold the gravel. The second day was no better than the first, and the third was worse than the second. The work was heavy and monotonous to Louis and myself especially, who had never been "contadini" Hke the rest. The "padrone" whose magnanimity had so stirred us was little better than a brute. We began to do some simple figuring and discovered that when we had paid for our groceries at the "storo," for the privUege of sleeping in the shanty, and the fifty cents to the "padrone" for having been so condescending as to employ us, we would have nothing left but sore arms and backs. So on the aftemoon of the third day Louis and I held a solemn conclave and decided to part company with "peek and shuvle," — ^f or ever. We left, without receiving a cent of pay, of course. IN THE AMERICAN STORM 81 Going across country on foot we came to a small manufacturing viUage. We decided to try our luck at the factory, which proved to be a woolen miU, and found employment. Our work was sorting old rags and carrying them in wheelbarrows into a hot oven, in which the air was almost suffocating. Every time a person went in it he was obliged to run out as quickly as possible, for the heat was un bearable. Unfortunately for us, the crew was com posed almost entirely of Russians, who hated us from the first day, and caUed us "dagoes." I had never heard the word before ; I asked Louis if he knew its meaning, but he did not. In going in and out of the oven the Russians would crowd against us and make it hard for us to pass. One morning as I was coming out, four of the men hedged me in. I thought I would suffocate. I finally succeeded in pushing out, my hand having been cut in the rush of the wheelbarrows. The superintendent of the factorv had observed the whole incident. He was a very kindly man. From his light complexion I think he was a Swede. He came to my rescue, reprimanded the Russians, and led me to his office, where he bandaged my hand. Then he called Louis and explained the sit uation to us. The Russians looked upon us as in truders and were determined not to work side by side with "the foreigners," but to drive them out of the factory. Therefore, much as he regretted it, the 82 THE SOUL OF AN IMMIGRANT superintendent was obliged to ask us to leave, since there were only two of us, as against the large num ber of Russians who made up his unskilled crew. So we left. My bandaged hand hurt me, but my heart hurt more. ,